


I'll probably survive this

by saintsavage



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Will Graham, Scenting, Will Graham Smells Like Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:45:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsavage/pseuds/saintsavage
Summary: Hannibal is introduced to medical oddity Will Graham - the empathetic omega who is grouchy, rude, and smells like blood.





	I'll probably survive this

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't have a beta and this basically came out of no where. My brain was just like WHAT IF WILL GRAHAM SMELLS LIKE BLOOD and this happened. I blame the ABO library for reminding me that I really, really love ABO-verse Hannibal. Honestly this might end up being a thing, I don't know.

"Thank you for coming, Dr. Lecter." Hannibal inclines his head slightly, a polite gesture. In truth he hadn't come for Jack at all. Had it not been the easiest way to approach the situation Hannibal would have ignored him entirely, but the other alpha offered him something he hadn't had in a very long time, a rare gift that he had no understanding of: a chance to meet the reclusive, rather unique creature known as Will Graham.

Given the omega's insights and talents he was rather well-known in certain circles. Undeniably gifted, but troubled. Possessing a disorder no one properly had a name for, but absolutely, _utterly_ unwilling to co-operate when it came to any sort of case study. He was a frustration for the academic community at large - many of whom promptly wrote him off as a hack or a fraud, rather than accept that he didn't walk blindly in to their dubious hands and allow them carte blanche when it came to studying him.

Naturally, it made Hannibal curious, but he never thought to have an opportunity to get near the man in question as he hadn't actively sought out contact. In part because he had no desire to be seen for what he was, or worse... disappointed that he was _not_ seen. So Hannibal had been content with the situation, gleaning what he could from his peers and musing upon it on occasion.

From what Hannibal had gathered, Will was stubborn, sarcastic without fault, and a loner by preference. It did not surprise him that approaches made towards the omega had failed, spectacularly. Few seemed to possess the intelligence to formulate a plan as to how to achieve their ends without him becoming suspicious - a challenge they did not appreciate for what it was.

Hannibal privately felt they deserved to fail simply because they did not deserve to understand such a thing as Will's reported abilities. Not that he suspected any of them even could.

But then Jack Crawford had approached him, gruff and uncertain, thrown off by Hannibal's casual elegance. Crawford was more of a 'traditional' sort of alpha, the kind of man who was sturdy, strong, and capable but also fiercely loyal and devoted to his causes - whatever they may be. And like it or not, the Chesapeake Ripper was a cause for Jack. Which meant Will Graham - the only person able to grasp the intricate details of the tableau the Ripper left - was inadvertently also a cause for Jack.

But less as a person and more as a tool, an instrument that could divine the basic meanings left behind by the serial killers Jack hunted. A possession.

His status as an omega likely did him no favors in that quarter.

So Jack had blustered his way through polite conversation before coming to the abruptly stated point: he needed someone to dig inside Will's mind, to sort out the wheat from the chaff, as it were, so that he would be _useful_ instead of going off on strange tangents or losing himself in the minds Jack wanted him to inhabit. It really was such delicious bait, though Jack was too clumsy in his handling of it. He had no idea what he offered Hannibal so neatly, so easily. A diamond bartered for bread.

And now they were here, in Jack's tired little office, awaiting the arrival of the elusive Will. Though he had been told otherwise, Hannibal correctly surmised that Will wouldn't be told of this surprise encounter. No doubt if he had been the omega wouldn't have bothered to show up at all. He sounded clever enough to suss out the truth of things. Which meant Hannibal had needed to formulate a reason for his easy co-operation in the affair - something that Will would believe because it would be entirely the truth.

"He should be here soon. Before he is though, you might want to put this on." _This_ being a small mask often used to block out scents. They weren't unheard of, many people on all sides of the gender spectrum were sensitive to certain scents and used them even in polite company. Yet Jack was only offering him one now, with no forewarning as to why, and it gave Hannibal pause. He raised a brow in question without reaching for the mask.

Jack's shoulder hunched, slightly. Defensive. "Will's scent... it's hard to deal with, especially at first. And he usually ignores anyone who suggests he wear blockers." Implying that Jack had suggested it, often enough that he felt the need to mention it in case the matter were brought up and he was asked why it had not been addressed. Which brought up the most important question Hannibal immediately had following this odd, semi-reveal of information: just what did Will Graham smell like?

Inwardly Hannibal wanted to shudder, thinking of Franklyn and over-ripe cheese.

Nothing had prepared him for the upcoming onslaught to his very, very sensitive nose and he was frustrated that he was not more thoroughly prepared. Jack had at least given him a little bit of time to gather himself so that he could make sure not to betray any stray thought or feeling when Will's scent revealed itself, but he disliked that he'd been unaware of this information beforehand. It seemed like something that should have come up.

"I wouldn't want to cause offense." Though he forlornly thinks of the sacrifice he's making, Hannibal knows enough of Will from second and third-hand encounters to know he would be confrontational enough as it was. No need to compound the issue by refusing to be exposed to his scent.

"Will's used to it. He knows his scent makes people uncomfortable, and he doesn't cover it anyway, that's part of his... his difficulties, I suppose. It's made him rather spiteful about it." Now that he knew it was an issue, Hannibal suspected that it might be an underlying cause for much of Will's reported sharp tongue. Nothing made a man more cruel than a childhood spent being taunted for something one had no control over. Either Jack was willfully ignorant of that or blinded by his own issues with Will. "Of course no one can _order_ him to use blockers, or even some kind of cover. Even if they _could_ he wouldn't listen, too stubborn."

"If his scent is so distracting, it must be difficult for him to be in the field."

"In the field's about the only place where he's at home."

Before Hannibal can properly dissect that comment the door is opening and Hannibal stands, not sure what to expect. Traditionally omegas were supposed to smell sweet, perhaps even floral, but he knew that was a projection that society as a whole had placed on them.

Scent wasn't easy to discern in the first place - he often found that others used specific words to describe an umbrella of subtle notes, unable to break down the complex origins. He knew there were people who would describe Jack Crawford's scent, for example, as one invoking feelings of justice and bravery, while his own was often described in more broad terms - Bedelia had once even given him the satisfaction of answering his question about it. She'd been annoyed, but answered truthfully: _you smell like power, Hannibal_.

Hannibal had always been able to pick out the individual notes within scents, a seemingly unique gift that he exploited. Sometimes just for the pleasure of shocking others. It amused him, but not enough that he regularly demonstrated the ability. He was above such pettiness. Yet he prepared to use it now, to see what other slivers of information might be discovered simply from taking in Will's scent.

Prepared without need, as it turned out.

Will Graham smelled like blood.

That was it. No dry, subtle notes, nothing to cut it apart and make it in to something more noble. It was the sort of smell that couldn't be confused for anything other than what it was - and from the hunched posture of the omega currently glaring at Jack it was clear he knew _exactly_ how he smelled.

How could he not? To a nose less refined than Hannibal's he could only imagine the taunts that came the moment Will was of age. They wouldn't detect the sharpness there, edged in copper. They wouldn't notice that it was the sort of smell that came just as the blood began to cool, rather than right after it had first been exposed to air. It was almost like being able to smell the innermost parts of his veins, a strangely intimate thing.

In short it was a pure smell, if an imperfect one no doubt affected by the reactions of those around him. Hannibal can easily imagine how it could overwhelm others, let alone what they made of it - the face Alana had briefly made when she'd brought up the subject made sense now.

"Christ Jack, not another one."

Undeterred, Jack nodded to Hannibal as though making polite introductions between two willing individuals instead of one confused (bemused) psychiatrist and an irate, bespectacled man. "Will, I'd like you to meet Hannibal-"

Will isn't willing to be civil, it appears. He cuts the other man off almost instantly. Hannibal watching in fascination as Will gestures almost wildly, completely unafraid. Though yoked no doubt by the twin demons of Right and Wrong, he's rather lovely this way, spitting fire. "You can call him whatever you want, he's still a shrink."

"Will!"

Sensing that the exchange is going to continue down that path without intervention Hannibal interjects. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter." Though he holds out his hand expectantly he expects nothing but the snort of derision that follows. Will instead chooses to shoot a dark look at Jack, ignoring the offered hand entirely before sinking like a stone in to the chair opposite Hannibal's.

It's entirely rude, yet altogether charming. _Strange_.

"Sorry to waste your time, Doctor, but I don't do this." He's crossed his arms, staring almost mutinously at the floor as though it has betrayed him by not swallowing up the offending psychiatrist that moment his presence became known. _Yes, quite charming_.

With placid, unruffled calm Hannibal takes his seat, curious as to how the situation will unfold. He's already fascinated by what little he's seen of Will, interested in a way he hasn't been in years. He wonders what Will sees, what he is thinking right at that moment. Not that it isn't hard to guess - but he wants _certainty_.

"This being?" Hannibal cocks his head to the side, forcing Will to address the situation at hand. Wondering what he'll say.

"Therapy." The word is absolutely dragged out of him, kicking and screaming.

In an effort to distract Will, but to also put him off-balance, Hannibal makes an shallow observation. "You aren't fond of eye contact, are you?"

"Eyes are distracting." Will's mouth is drawn in to a thin, tight line. His shoulders are tight and tense, his posture hunched. It's a hunted sort of look. "You see too much, you don't see enough."

 _Curious_.

At his place on the other side of the desk Jack clears his throat and clumsily attempts to take control of the situation. Hannibal feels a flicker of irritation at that, wishing the man would notice how unwelcome he was in this moment. "Will, I know you don't like this but the fact remains: something needs to change. If you're going to keep solving crimes you need to be... you need to be stable."

Will snorted. "Define stable. Last time I checked I had a steady job, housing, and can even go to the grocery store all by myself like a big boy." There's a sort of drawl to Will's voice, the faint traces of an accent. It's hard to place with most of it washed away, but Hannibal would guess he grew up in the southern-most parts of the states. Louisiana, perhaps. "I don't need a minder."

"You know what I'm talking about Will, don't be flippant." There's something else Hannibal hasn't been told, something that has happened to make Jack doubt what has to be the keenest hound in his pack, but he knows this is too fragile a moment to begin prying. He'll find out eventually, either through Will or by other means.

"This is punishment for not using the blockers, isn't it?" Jack grumbles, but doesn't reply.

Rather than allow Will to take hold of his resentment and use it as a reason to refuse Hannibal outright, he carefully breaks in, reminding both of him of his presence rather suddenly. He knows because their eyes both snap to him, as though they'd forgotten him but can't imagine how. Will covers very well, but Hannibal drinks in the spare amount of seconds where he locks eyes with the other man. It's alarming, the clarity behind those eyes. The manic _drive_ there. It's unearthly. "Excuse me, but I was under the impression that you were aware of why I had come here and consented to being treated."

Will's mouth opens, but Jack jumps in again, rudely interrupting any meaningful contact between Hannibal and Will. A lesser man would have growled at his unwanted 'help'. "I'm not punishing you Will, I'm trying to help you damn it! I don't want you to spiral again. That doesn't help anybody."

Though he looks as though he wants to argue, Will deflates all at once, slouching in his chair as his head falls back. "I'm fine, Jack." The words are dull, no doubt carved in to his tongue after the many times he's had to assert it. Idly Hannibal wonders just how many times his mental state was ignored in favor of the greater good, those two words absolving Jack of any guilt he might have felt at using Will.

"Surely it won't hurt, then, to have a conversation or two? If it would put Agent Crawford's mind at ease?"

Will is staring up at the ceiling, but his eyes slide to Hannibal, settling somewhere on his tie. He's considering something in the silence that follows. Finally, he speaks, the determination back in his voice. It's ridiculous to have missed it when he's only heard Will speak a handful of sentences. "If he says I'm fine you'll stop with the brigade of therapists who just want to write papers about me?"

The alpha nods, but Hannibal notices the caveat attached to the end of his words. "You have my word. As long as you're _stable_."

Will abruptly stood, but before he left he turned to Hannibal, head tilted but still not making eye contact. "You did better then the last guy. He threw up."


End file.
